The Lost Jedi
by Wonkaverse
Summary: When Count Dooku flees from the Republic forces, he has a rather unexpected journey...
1. The Fallen One

**Disclaimer** : We do not own any of the Star Wars franchise.

 **Author's Note** : This story was posted for a while but was shelved for plot reworking. Now we've brought it back. Enjoy!

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A vicious wind kicked up suddenly, throwing clouds of fine red sand into the air that obscured much of the blinding Genosian sunlight. The Jedi was uncertain whether he should be grateful or angry over the sudden change in weather; the dust clouds would certainly veil him from the eyes of his pursuers, but nothing could hinder the bonds between him and them created by the Force. He cursed loudly as the wind buffeted him, ripping at his dark cloak. If only he had stayed an apprentice of the Sith Lord for a while longer! He might have then earned the respect he believed he deserved. His master would not have betrayed him, and he would not now be fleeing from Sideous' new apprentice, Anakin Skywalker. The bitter thoughts ate at him as he fought against the wind, forcing himself forward with the power of the Force. He soon came to the bottom of the Spire, a towering pinnacle of red stone that was hollowed out for use as a base. He barked an unintelligible order at the pair of Genosians standing guard at the entrance, and they stepped aside in obedience. He brushed past them, all too aware of the thrum of approaching transport ships behind him.

He was a dead man, he knew. Betrayed on all sides, first by his order and then by his master, he was trapped by the inevitability that fate had predestined for him. He was going to die; he acknowledged the fact in his mind, but his human instinct for preservation prevailed over his feelings. He took the lift to the highest chamber in the tower, the landing bay where his starcruiser was docked, intending to flee. Before he could reach his ship, of course, the impudent Skywalker confronted him. Filled with anger and frustration, he willingly accepted the challenge, his red lightsaber blazing into readiness. Count Dooku would not back down from a fight.

After a few moments of heated combat, he succeeded in disabling the boy and would have killed him. Had it not been for Master Yoda's interference, Dooku would have ended Skywalker's life, and inadvertently saved the galaxy from greater strife than it was currently experiencing. But fate was against him again; Yoda fought and matched Dooku's power, forcing the renegade to flee. He sprinted to his ship, threw himself into the cockpit, and used the Force to activate all systems as he fastened his safety harness. The landing gear folded into the belly of the craft, thrusters roaring to life as the vessel shot forward into the dust-filled sky.

Leaving Skywalker in the hands of a skillful medic, Yoda directed a number of Republic troopers to pursue Dooku into the atmosphere.

"Escape, he must not!" he insisted. But Dooku had a head start, and the Republic gunships were meant for transport and heavy fire; they could not match the speed of Dooku's cruiser. Within moments, the target craft was out of sight and radar detection. The clone piloting the lead ship was apologetic as he addressed Yoda. "We've lost him, sir."

The little Jedi's expression was serene despite the situation, as if he could see a peaceful moment in the future. "Worry not; escape for a time, he may. But revealed he will be in due time. Forever, one cannot hide."

The starcruiser glinted dully in the light of brilliant nebulae, its sole passenger unwilling to relax just yet. There was no sign that he was being pursued by the Republic forces, but the last thing he wanted was to be caught off guard. He did, however, ease his white-knuckled hands off the controls, allowing an R4 unit to autopilot. His hands freed, he wiped cold sweat from his brow, sighing as relief washed over him. He sensed the connection between him and the Jedi was severed, or at least inhibited by the growing distance between them. They would not be able to locate him easily, now that he had managed to escape their clutches once again. His freedom would not last forever, he knew; his fate had been revealed to him in dreams, and he knew that death at the hands of Skywalker was inevitable. But he could delay the arrival of death, or at least make an attempt to delay it…he found himself wishing that he could consult his former apprentice in these matters. Despite his inferiority in age, Qui-gon Jinn had always been a remarkable source of wisdom for Dooku. It was only too bad that he could not have seen the trouble in Jedi orthodoxy, as Dooku had. The two had gone their separate ways, and despite Jinn's skills in combat and the Force, he had been killed while serving the will of the Jedi.

Dooku considered these thoughts bitterly, blaming the Jedi Order for the terrible turn his life had taken. It was reasonable, to accuse them. It was their fault, after all, that Qui-gon had died, that he himself had been marked a traitor, that the dark-hearted Skywalker had been trained in the ways of the Force. There was something ominous about the young knight that Dooku sensed. Fear. Hate. Pain. Feelings very similar to his own, feelings that had drawn him into serving the emperor. But these feelings led only to betrayal, and betrayal lead to enlightenment. He could sense treachery growing in Skywalker's heart. The boy's mentor, blinded by the laws and traditions of the Order, did not. Even Master Yoda, who could sense Skywalker's fear, was oblivious to the darker creature that the boy was becoming. _Imagine, the old master, blind to something so obvious!_ Perhaps it was Dooku's connection with the Dark Side that allowed him to see its manifestation in Skywalker so easily. And the Jedi, loyal and honorable to a fault, could not tolerate the other side, and so could not detect it. They could not even detect the Dark Emperor, who walked among them daily! The mere idea made Dooku laugh, amused by the irony. Someday, perhaps someday soon, all will be revealed. Then the foolish Jedi would see the depth of their naiveté, and by then it would already be too late for them to do anything. Ah, what he would give to be there when it happened. But that would mean risking his life at the hands of both the Jedi Order and the Emperor. And that, Dooku thought, was not something he was willing to give. He let his thoughts continue to wander, gazing absently out the forward viewscreen as the ship cruised through space without a destination. Blazing stars spangled the endless blackness of space, glowing clouds of brilliant gases swirling in a dance of gravitational pull. _It was all beautiful_ , Dooku thought appreciatively. It was the first time in a long time that he had considered something for its appearance, but the idea came surprisingly easily. He realized he wanted to think of things appreciatively, and he realized he wanted a new life. A fresh start. Perhaps, if he could reestablish himself in some other planetary system, he could have a new identity and live free of the Jedi Order and the Republic indefinitely. Perhaps he could find some backwater world…Tatooine, for instance, or something along the galaxy's Outer Rim. He could work with his hands, build a new home. It wouldn't be as fancy as his former estates, but…

A chirping alert broke him from his daydreaming, his eyes locking on the stream of text scrolling across one of the monitors.

SPACIAL ANOMALY DETECTED.

ABNORMAL ENERGY FLUX AT 354.465.477

PRESENT HEADING WILL RESULT IN INTERSECTING WITH ANOMALY.

COMPENSATING

COMPENSATING

COURSE ADJUST UNSUCCESSFUL

INTERSECTION WITH ANOMALY IN 7…6…

Dooku cursed, slamming the console as if the impact would force the R4 unit into cooperation. His eyes flicked to the viewscreen, widening as a brilliant field of rippling energy filled the screen. His eyes snapped shut of their own accord, but his vision was filled with the dull red of light seeping through his eyelids. High-pitched sirens and alarms filled his hearing, and he clamped his hands over his ears, helpless to do anything else as his vessel was enveloped by the field of light.

There was no shaking or screeching of metal to suggest damage, but the alerts were still going off when Dooku sensed the disappearance of the blinding brightness and pulled his hands from his ears. Breathing deeply to assure himself he was still alive, he tapped commands on the console before him, speaking to the R4 unit.

"Status report."

LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEMS…NORMAL

SCANNING CAPABILITIES…NORMAL

COMMUNICATIONS…NORMAL

WEAPONS SYSTEMS…NORMAL

NAVIGATION…PENDING

STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY…STABLE

FORCEFIELDS…STABLE

FLIGHT CONTROL…OFFLINE

Dooku swore again, cursing his foul luck. "I may escape, only to die anyway!" He pressed several keys, muting the alerts. "Might as well die in silence."

He sat back in his chair, allowing his eyes to finally look at the viewscreen. The stars he was seeing were unfamiliar, strange. Whatever the spacial anomaly had done, it might have also changed his location, like some kind of wormhole. An eddy in space, perhaps. He was no astrophysical theorist, but he knew strange things happened in the ether of deep space. And teleportation was by far the least strange. He considered this as he typed commands furiously into the console, urging the R4 unit to make specific repairs. If he could just get the flight controls back online…

A brilliant flash made him look up, and he paused in sheer wonderment. Three planets, nothing more than dark, circular silhouettes, eclipsed a white sun. They were each identical in size and shape, and as Dooku watched, he realised that two of the planets orbited the third. "A triploid system," he murmured to himself, partially pleased that he knew of such things. He was displeased, however, to find that his vessel was changing course; caught in the presumably massive gravity well of the triploid planetary system, his ship slowed, stopped, then reversed until it was careening toward the center planet.

It was better than getting pulled into the sun, Dooku conceded, but without flight controls, it would be suicide.

"R4, do we still have shields?"

AFFIRMATIVE.

ATMOSPHERIC REENTRY ENABLED

"What about flight control?"

NEGATIVE.

FLIGHT CONTROLS…OFFLINE

"I suppose we'll have to make the best of it, then." Dooku took hold of his lightsaber and unfastened his harness, one of his hands clenching the armrest of his seat as the ship's hull began to glow red. The vessel entered the center planet's atmosphere, already beginning to blaze against the air resistance.

"Give me a distance countdown!" Dooku shouted over the roaring reverberations that were shaking his ship. The R4 unit chirped weakly, transferring its subroutines into the ship itself before its housing was burned away. A counter appeared on the monitor, ticking off the metres as the ship fell toward the surface.

40000

35000

30000

25000

20000

15000

10000

5000

2500

1000

Dooku activated his lightsaber and slashed through the hull above him; the metal tore away, and he was ripped through the gaping hole by a rush of air. His ship, now a blazing hulk, fell for another several seconds, streaking a long trail of smoke behind it. It struck the earth with a thunderous impact, scoring a long gully that was littered with smoldering debris. Dooku only had a few moments to appreciate this sight; he was falling only slightly slower than the ship had; taking hold of his cloak, he managed to slow his descent appreciatively, but not enough to escape injury. The ground rose up to meet him all too soon, and he crashed into the gritty earth with a snap and a groan, landing ungracefully amidst the melted remains of his ship. He lay bleeding on the ground, slipping into unconsciousness, unaware of his injuries and the grey-bearded man who found the injured stranger and bought him home.


	2. A New Life

**Disclaimer** : if it looks like something you saw on television, we probably don't own it. Fan fiction.

 _Author's Note_ : Thanks to Dracomancer1, whose review helped us smooth this part out.

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He was awakened by a sound, something he knew he should recognize but was unable to place at the moment. A crackling, popping noise…was it fire? He tested the air by taking an uncertain sniff, confused by the sharp mixture of odors that he discovered. They were not entirely unpleasant; he likened them to the pantry of a professional Coruscant chef, where an assortment of wild scents collected over time. He definitely detected a smoky scent beneath the herbal aroma, and his eyes shot open in panic as the memory of his crash came back to him. Was he still there, lying amongst the burning wreckage, bleeding, dying? He was lying on his back, and he struggled to get into a sitting position. His movements were greeted with pain, however, and he cried out as his wounds made themselves known. He fell back, dimly surprised when he realised he was lying on a bed of a springy substance, too focused on his pain to wonder what it was. His whole body hurt, and as he mentally catalogued his injuries, he became suddenly aware that he was undressed and bandaged, his nakedness covered only by his thin under-tunic and a scratchy blanket. The realization was followed by a sudden desire to preserve himself. For all he knew, his rescuer was a supporter of the Republic. If he recognised Dooku, he might very well turn the renegade in to the authorities. And that, Dooku thought, was something he wouldn't allow even in his weakened state. He surveyed the surrounding chamber from where he lay, eyes searching for an exit…it was a small room, less than six meters square, with a low ceiling that appeared to have roots growing out of it. The walls and floor had the consistency of soil, and there was a fireplace at the other end that was made of stone. A fire was crackling in the hearth, and Dooku found himself mesmerized; he had never seen fire in such a peaceful state. To him, fire was a way to kill, a mode of destruction. Whenever he had taken the time to watch, it had always been angry, blazing with wrath and a desire to consume everything. But here, in a state of control, it was almost…beautiful. He watched the dancing flames for a moment longer, then turned his head away as his eyes began to water.

"Ah, so he has awoken! Wonderful!"

Dooku jerked, startled, ignoring the flash of pain resulting from his sudden movement. He turned to face the voice, somewhat surprised to see a grey-bearded man sitting in a rough wooden chair, smiling at him. Initially, Dooku didn't know what to say. There were dozens of questions chasing each other around in his mind, but he wasn't certain which he should ask first. Nor did he think a mere 'thank you' would cover the amount of gratitude he owed this man, and neither was he certain he could trust him just yet. He waited for the stranger to explain himself, which he did.

"You must forgive me for my enthusiasm, friend; when I found you along the roadside, you were so badly hurt that I was afraid that you would not survive. Luckily for you, I have always had a knack for herbal remedies, and though I cannot classify myself as a professional alchemist, I am capable of concocting the most basic of healing poultices."

The mixed odors. _Herbs_. Dooku grunted in understanding.

The man continued. "I had gone to investigate the site of the fallen star, but I came upon you instead. You were injured quite badly…dislocated shoulder, fractured ribs, broken leg, numerous gashes along your chest and back." He gave Dooku a questioning look. "Did you fall, good sir?"

Dooku gave a hesitant nod, uncertain of his rescuer's extent of knowledge. For all he knew, the man had sensed Dooku coming and had watched him fall. It was entirely possible that this man was a Jedi; he certainly looked the part. Best not get caught in a lie until Dooku regained his strength.

The man looked satisfied, excited even. "My eyes did not deceive me, then! He chuckled heartily, Dooku cringing inwardly at the sound. Did it signify his safety, or his doom?

"Forgive me," the man said with a smile, "but you must understand what your arrival means. It is only on very rare occasions that people fall from the sky…much less a human being. But every arrival occurred in the same manner of your own, and brought individuals to this world who were a great benefit to all the kingdoms in Middle Earth."

 _Middle Earth._ The center planet. Dooku smiled faintly at the terminology, eliciting a grin from his benevolent host.

"Do you have a name, then?"

Dooku thought quickly. It was never wise to give one's real name to a complete stranger, kind-hearted or not. In a moment of panic, he put two words together: Saru, the Farsi word for 'skill', and Man, being that he was one, and that relationship seemed important to his host. "Saruman," he rasped, surprised at the roughness of his voice. He coughed, and the grey-bearded man produced a skin flask, holding the opening to Dooku's...now, _Saruman's_ lips. He drank thirstily, surprised by the tangy flavor that flooded his mouth. He recognised the taste; rich wine, sweeter than even the wine produced by the vineyards in Naboo. He liquid slipped down his throat like a balm, soothing the roughness, quenching his thirst. After a long draught, he pulled away satisfied, tingling with relief despite the distant complaint of his injuries. His thirst quenched, he was now able to speak properly, though he remained lying down, eyes turned toward the other man.

"Who are you?"

The man sealed the flask and set it on a low wooden table, exchanging it for a pipe that he lit and puffed upon for a moment before answering. "I suppose you deserve to know your Good Samaritan, and it was probably rude of me not to introduce myself earlier anyway. My name is Gandalf, and my level of wizardry entitles me to the surname of Grey. So, Gandalf the Grey, as most of my acquaintances call me." He shook his head at some memory, chuckling around his pipe. "Not that my title has ever mattered to those silly Hobbits in the Shire…ah, of course you don't know them, but I am sure you will get the chance to meet them when you are well enough to walk again. In fact, you would probably want to see all the holds in Middle Earth, yes? The strangers always do. Only then can they understand the workings of this world and which kingdom they can benefit the most. The last stranger to fall from the sky…the legends say she fell, oh, some thousand years ago, and only after she had seen each of the kingdoms did she decide to remain with the dwarves, and they became a good, civilized nation because of her patient teachings. She also possessed the skills of a wizard, if I remember correctly, and she attained the rank of White…" his voice trailed off as he continued to puff on his pipe, his thoughts far away. Dooku regarded him silently, considering everything he had just heard. No mention of the Republic, no emperor, no Jedi….just this blather about kingdoms and wizards and a White girl and her dwarves. It did not make much sense to him, but confusion was certainly a better fate than death, so he lay back and watched the flames in the fireplace while the man called Gandalf puffed quietly away.

Sometime later, the man put away his pipe and rose from his seat, casting a kind look on his patient's unconscious form. As the fire had died down, so had Dooku's unease; he drifted off to sleep, but was met only with subconscious turmoil. His dreams were filled with darkness, flashes of red light and screaming children, roaring flames and the sound of blaster fire. Images flashed through his mind: the Jedi temple in Coruscant, burning. The younglings being mowed down by Republic troopers, led by none other than the darkened Skywalker. Members of the Jedi council slaughtered by the Sith emperor, whose eyes seemed to meet Dooku's gaze. The eyes merged to form a single, terrible red eye that glowed and wavered like the fire that he had been studying earlier. A voice, the Emperor's perhaps, speaking through the Eye. "I see you…"

Dooku…no…it was Saruman now…jolted awake for the second time in this other world, cold sweat running down his forehead. He moved his hand to wipe it away, wincing at the wrenching pain in his shoulder.

"That would be the one you dislocated," Gandalf said, facing the fireplace as he coaxed the flames to life. "It's back in place, but it will be sore for a while." He turned his attention back to placing wood. Sunlight was streaming in through a window, but the fire was needed for warmth and cooking as well as additional light. Saruman grunted in a mixture of reluctance and pain, using his other hand to wipe the moisture from his face. "How long was I asleep?"

Gandalf stepped back and considered. "Oh, seven hours. Maybe eight. It was late last night when you regained consciousness. I had been sitting nearby to observe, in hopes that you would not slip into a coma. Thankfully, you didn't…and I managed to get some rest after you fell asleep again. But, why should time matter to someone on the mend?"

Saruman began to reply, but stopped in surprise when Gandalf muttered a phrase and waved his hand, a fire seeming to blaze to life in the hearth of its own accord. "How did you…"

Gandalf smiled condescendingly. "Surely you've heard of the magics, my friend. You haven't? Well, I suppose that is not entirely surprising. One cannot expect every stranger to understand the dynamics of the universe, after all." He stepped over to the little table, taking a dusty book in hand. He blew the dust off and handed it to Saruman, who accepted it uncertainly. The script on the cover was written beautifully, but in a language that he did not understand. He looked to Gandalf apologetically. "I'm afraid I can't read this language."

"Now, now, that is the first lesson about the magics that all apprentices and wizards-to-be must learn. It is not the external appearance that matters; all physical things may be altered using a few simple tricks of the mind, slight of the hand. To learn about magics, one must not read as much as he must understand. Open the book, Saruman, and allow the energy within the pages to speak to you. Granted, the words contain the knowledge, but in our books, it is the actual page that contains the energy that the reader must sense and absorb to 'learn' about magics."

Saruman gave the other a dubious look, but he was in no condition to argue. He took the book again, propping it up so that he could read it while reclining. He cleared his mind, just as he had when he was a young padawan during the meditation exercises. He did indeed sense energy in the pages, and only after a moment's hesitation did he open the book to the first page. The script, formerly strange and unintelligible, seemed to rearrange itself on the coarse paper. Dooku gripped the book more tightly out of surprise.

"Make sure you do not tear the pages," Gandalf said, amused. "That book is near half a century old."

Saruman nodded absently, his mind absorbing the translated words as quickly as they formed. Was it really magic, then, or some extended manifestation of the Force? Page after page he read, and he could not decide. But he was completely absorbed by the concept of magic, of spells and incantations. He was completely familiar with the "power within", that being the midichlorians and the Force, so the understanding of magic came quite easily to him, though he struggled to reconcile it with his previous doctrine. Perhaps magic was the manifestation of midichlorians in this world. Same thing, different worlds.

Gandalf watched his patient read for a while, smiling when he saw the new light in the stranger's eyes. If Gandalf recognized anything, it was the telltale signs that signaled the desire for knowledge. He had seen that same look in the eyes of the hobbit Bilbo Baggins many times before.

The thought of Baggins made his thoughts sour suddenly, mainly because of the artifact the hobbit had uncovered on his most recent adventure…a unique and peculiar Ring. Gandalf knew what the Ring was, the powers and dangers it held. He had not the heart to tell Baggins of it just yet; as much as the wizard wanted to help the hobbit rid the world of such a dangerous object, he knew that disasters are often met on the roads taken to avoid them…and thus allowed the Ring to remain in the possession of the hobbit for the time being.

"…and that is how I ended up here." Saruman concluded his story with a slight flourish, slowly readjusting his posture in the wooden seat. Dooku had told him the story of how he had crashed on Middle Earth…or at least, part of the story. He had conveniently omitted some portions, and embellished some facts entirely. If he had learned anything from his service to Sideous, it was that all is fair in love and preservation.

Gandalf gazed at him intently, something close to admiration in his eyes. "It must have been terrible to lose your friends to the witchery of a foul lord. But you were right to suspect them of treachery in the first place…one thing I understand well is the double-sided consequence of power. It can bring peace, but it may also destroy it." He shifted slightly in his own seat, reaching into a small satchel to produce his weathered pipe.

"Is there something troubling you?"

"Whatever are you talking about? I am fine."

"For the handful of days I have been here, I have learned many things about my caretaker. You comb your beard before bed, talk in your sleep, and only smoke your pipe when you are concerned about something."

Gandalf coughed, dropping his pipe on the floor and spilling the tobacco. "I suppose I have acquired some bad habits."

"Not bad," Saruman said, "just predictable ones." He lowered his tone, his voice sympathetic. "If there is something troubling you, you can tell me; listening to a sad old story is the least I could do for a friend, to whom I owe my life."

Gandalf stared at him uncertainly for a moment, as if to detect any sarcasm. Sensing only genuine empathy, he gave in, sitting back in his chair. "Very well. But it is a rather long story. If you begin to feel drowsy..."

"I have slept too long," Dooku said dismissively. "Begin your story."

Gandalf snorted, but he nodded. "You may remember my speaking of the Hobbits, yes? Curious little creatures. Humanlike, but not as tall as you or I. Smaller even than the stocky dwarves who live in the hearts of the mountains. Well, these hobbits live in the Shires not far from here…little towns built into the hills. I go there every so often to visit an old friend of mine, Bilbo Baggins. He and I have quite a history, if you can believe it. How we actually met is not as unusual as you might think; I was younger back then, traveling through the country on a quest for the Istari (a council of wizards), and we, eh, ran into each other." He chuckled, reliving the moment. "On account of his shorter stature, I had not seen him. And hobbits, despite being fleet of foot, are not something one would expect to meet in a collision. Bilbo, being the adventurous sort, had left his shire in hopes of finding treasure…or at least a good story. After our rather embarrassing chance meeting, I decided he could be of use….er, of help…to me."

Saruman raised his brow. "Did you con him into joining you in your mission?"

"If that is what you want to call it, then yes, I did. Bilbo was not the greedy sort to be bribed with a promise of money, but he was not against hunting for treasure. My mission, which consisted of seeking the demise of a dragon and returning a rightful heir to his throne, needed someone small, someone fleet of foot, someone who had a knack for theft. And that someone, I was delighted to find, was Bilbo. So I told him there was a mythical treasure involved, which wasn't entirely untrue. Dragons are hoarders of gold and jewels and such; it is in their nature to store up treasure piles, it is essential to their survival. An interesting fact about dragons: like lizards of smaller build, they must absorb heat in order to restore their vitality. Gold and silver, which are excellent conductors of heat, would sooner sap the dragon of any heat energy it expends….but when the dragon sleeps, it gives off energy not as heat, but as light. The precious metals it collects reflects this energy back to the dragon's skin, where it is reabsorbed and reemitted perpetually while the dragon sleeps. Thus the dragon can sleep indefinitely, and lose only a minimum amount of energy in the process. But I digress. Where was I? Ah, yes…Bilbo fancied a small portion of these treasures as his, and so agreed to assist me in my endeavors. We faced many trials together, that hobbit and I. but we were not alone; we had many allies along the way. Dwarves and elves and eagles, even some human folk whose village was endangered by the dragon. I am ashamed to say that I lost Bilbo along the way…not to death, mind you…but we did get separated. The valiant little fellow continued the mission, for the sake of the treasure promised him, if not for the sake of honor. We met again, thankfully (I had blamed myself for our accidental separation), and we resumed our mission, eventually overcoming the dragon and rebellious forces with the help of our newfound friends."

"A nice ending," Saruman said with a smirk, "but surely these fond memories are not what have been troubling you."

"No," Gandalf admitted, "but Bilbo…during our brief separation…perchanced upon an enchanted Ring."

Dooku sat up a little straighter. There was something foreboding about the way Gandalf has said the word that hinted foreboding…or was it power?"

"Tell me about this Ring. Surely something so small could not terrify someone who is skilled in magics."

"That is where you are wrong, my friend. The power within the Ring is strong, stronger than the four that were forged before it."

"There are others?"

Gandalf shook his hoary head. "Thankfully, no longer. They were destroyed years ago."

"But this one…still exists? And it is more powerful than the others? Why was it not also destroyed?"

"It was lost," Gandalf said simply. "For hundreds of years, no one could find it. Bilbo tells me a creature had it…and he stole it from the creature."

"Ah, so your friend did live up to your expectations."

"I wish he hadn't."

Saruman crossed his arms, looking quite amused. "Why? Is he now the most powerful creature in Middle Earth because of it? I imagine you would be quite jealous of someone who possesses the most powerful Ring in the world."

"Of course not!" Gandalf retorted. "But Bilbo doesn't know what danger he has put himself in…what danger he has put us all in."

The smug look on Dooku's face evaporated, curiosity returning. "What sort of danger?"

"The forger and enchanter of the rings, Sauron, has long sought out his rightful possessions. He made the rings and intended to take over the entirety of Middle Earth using their power. But they were stolen from him by a Fellowship, who vowed to destroy the rings so that their creator could never use them to complete his plan. But the man given charge of the most powerful ring became proud; he broke away from the Fellowship, broke his vows, and disappeared mysteriously. The ring he carried was apparently found by the creature from whom Bilbo stole, so I can only assume the guardian died in some foolhardy way."

"And the danger is that the hobbit will be killed by whatever killed the guardian?"

"He will be killed by Sauron! A wizard rooted in such deep evil will stop at nothing, will destroy everything, to retrieve his last hope of controlling the world! Even now, he searches for the Ring. He does not know where it is yet, since it has been lost for many years. But it is only a matter of time before he senses the magic and charm that Bilbo draws from it. And when he finds the Shire, it will be too late for my little friend, and all those living with him."

Saruman rubbed his short beard in thought, half wondering if he should grow it out, half wondering how he could help his host. "Perhaps we should go to warn your wizard council of this threat. Surely they would know what to do."

Gandalf stifled a cough of disbelief. "'We'? You have not been here for more than a few days, and now you want to get involved in what is perhaps the greatest conflict in the history of Middle Earth? Your wounds are still healing, and you hardly know any magic! You would not be able to stand to make a journey, much less a fight!"

Saruman stood up with some difficulty, finding it hard to raise himself on his splinted leg. But he managed to do it, and met Gandalf's incredulous stare. "If you could provide me a crutch, I can walk. Pain is nothing new to me, and neither is a fight. As for magic, if you could give me my personal effects, I will show you a magic that I am certain neither you nor your wizard council has seen before."

Gandalf gave him a dubious look, but he walked over to a small cupboard and took out Dooku's tattered robe. Something hard and cylindrical fell out, and he stooped to pick it up, holding it in his hand curiously. "What is this?"

"Hand it to me, please," Saruman said, struggling to contain his impatience. For now, he needed this man to trust him, to believe in him.

Gandalf handed him the object and the robe. Dooku regarded the tattered garment for a moment, then threw it aside. He would need to repair it later. Taking the cylindrical object in hand, he felt a rush of familiar energy course through him. The Force is my ally. The object came to life at his will, a glowing red blade of energy materializing with a hiss. Gandalf jumped back in surprise, unable to form a logical question. "What, what, how…is that fire?"

"Essentially," Saruman replied, smiling genuinely for the first time in days. "A lightsaber. A fire sword, if you will. Is this proof enough for you? May I accompany you on your journey?"

Gandalf thought for a moment, eyes drifting between Dooku and the lightsaber. "Yes."

"Excellent." Saruman deactivated the blade, automatically moving to place it in a nonexistent belt. He looked apologetically to his host, his tone entreating. "Perhaps I could borrow a tunic from you?"


	3. An Enlightening Journey

**Disclaimer** : Please note that we do not own any part of _Lord of the Rings_.

Bog-worms, to our knowledge, are our own creation.

* * *

The next morning, Gandalf made ready for the journey, assisted by Saruman, who was able to limp about by using a walking stick that Gandalf had found for him. They loaded Gandalf's cart with provisions like food, flasks of water, and bedding. Then Gandalf went around the back of the hut and returned with a bay mare that he hitched to the cart.

"I believe we're ready," he said to Saruman, and they both climbed aboard the cart, and their journey began. The cart did not move terribly fast, but it was not long before they were out of the forest where Gandalf lived and were passing through sprawling fields of white flowers. Eventually the fields gave way to hills, and some of the hills appeared to have round doors set into them.

"That there is the Shire," Gandalf said as he gestured in the direction of the hills. "Remember when I mentioned the Hobbits? That is where they live. That house we're closest to, that's the home of Bilbo Baggins. I would stop by to visit, but we are in a bit of a hurry to reach our destination. I've already sent the message to the other wizards, and they should already be on their way.

"Forgive me for my curiosity, but how did you send the message?" Saruman asked. He couldn't imagine the old man had a communicator, or even a telescreen.

""I sent it by dragonfly," Gandalf said simply, like such things were normal. "Usually we would send messages by moth or bumblebee, but urgency dictated that I should use the fleetest of insects."

"How can an insect carry a message?" Saruman asked, puzzled. He wondered for a moment if the insects here were larger than normal…or what he knew as normal, anyway.

Gandalf chuckled. "Ah, dear me…I suppose I'll have to explain it all for you. I keep forgetting you are not of this world, so you do not yet have knowledge of how it came to be, or even who and what I am. You see, this land is what we refer to as Middle Earth, but more formally, it is called Arda. It was created as a space between two other worlds by the almighty Eru, who lives in a universe outside our own. Then he created mighty beings called the Valar, who formed living creatures in the worlds in accordance with Eru's grand design. All the plants and animals and intelligent beings in Middle Earth came from the Valar, who blessed them with gifts of skills, creativity, and knowledge. Finally, the Valar created five beings to live on the mortal plane to maintain peace and offer counsel to Elves, Dwarves, and Men. These are the Maia, or 'wizards' as the mortals say. The Valar gifted them with wisdom and magic and special abilities, such as communicating with animals, both great and small."

"So you're one of these Maia," Saruman said slowly. "You're not human…you're immortal?"

Gandalf smiled lightly. "Do not misunderstand—you are correct in saying I am not human, though I bear the likeness of an old man and rather enjoy this identity. But I am still very much able to die. I will not die from old age—I am centuries old already, and I will never get sick or suffer from poison or disease. But, like the mortals, I have my limitations. For instance, I could not expect to survive a fall from a mountain peak, or live after being swallowed by the fires of Mordor."  
"I suppose not," Saruman murmured. He took a moment to look around and saw that they were passing through ripe fields, where smallish people appeared to be heard at work. Their faces were ruddy and youthful, and Saruman thought they must be children.

"Who are those children?" he asked. "And where are all the adults?"

Gandalf laughed. "Those are the adults, my friend. And don't let them hear you calling them children—they tend to take offense at that. Those are the Hobbits. They are a small but resilient people. You can see now why we often refer to them as Halflings."

Saruman did see, and he got an even better view when three of the nearest Hobbits cam running up to their cart. Gandalf slowed his horse and looked down with a warm smile.

"Ah, good morning. Let's see if I can remember your names…" he looked thoughtful for a moment before pointing at each of them in turn.

"Galvin Silbrose, Ragby Cullins, and Tomhart Ganjee."

"That's right, sir!" the one called Ragby said brightly. "That's a mighty fine memory you have there."

"I suppose it's part of being old," Gandalf said modestly.

"I see you have a stranger with you," Galvin observed, eyeing Saruman curiously. "I don't think we've met yet."

"Perhaps he'd like to join us for noonsies," Tomhart suggested. "Then we could all get properly acquainted, and you could all meet my new baby boy, Samwise."

"I'm afraid we haven't the time for that," Gandalf said gently. "Perhaps another day."

"Then at least introduce us," Ragby insisted. "What is your name, friend?"

"Saruman," Saruman replied. "I'm—"

"A newcomer," Gandalf interrupted, "Sent by the Valar. I'm taking him to meet the other wizards, so we must be off."

The three Hobbits shared excited looks, as they all respected the Valar and the wizards.

"Well, best of luck to you," Tomhart said sincerely. "And feel free to join us for an evening when you return."

Gandalf and Saruman both waved in farewell, and they continued down the road.

The farmlands of the Hobbits gradually gave way to untilled grassland, and that eventually gave way to moorlands which were covered in purplish-grey heather that waved to and fro, tossed by the gentle caresses of the breeze. By now, the sun was low in the sky, almost to the point of setting, and Gandalf stopped his horse.

"We should make camp for the night," he said, getting off the cart to unhitch his horse and tie her tether to a lonely sapling. Saruman eased himself down to the ground, wincing as he put weight on his bad leg.

"I could get to work on a campfire," he offered, leaning heavily on his walking stick. Gandalf gave him a concerned look. "Are you sure your leg can handle it?"

"I've had worse," Saruman said, gritting his teeth against the pain. "Besides, I want to practice some of those spells I learned from your book."

"Very well," Gandalf said uncertainly. "Just don't go far, and call me if you need help." He set to work unloading bedding and food from the cart, and Saruman limped off to find kindling and stones for the fire. When he had built a circle of stones to contain the fire, he set about creating a pile of kindling. While dried heather burns bright, it does not burn very long, and Saruman could only find a precious few pieces of wood since trees are scarce on the moors. When he had gathered all the pieces he could find near the campsite, he widened his search. Finally he found splinters of old, broken wood, and as he picked them up he realized it was a trail. The trail led him to a shallow ravine, and in the waning light it lay deep in shadow so that he could not see into it. He took one of the pieces of wood he was carrying under his free arm and lit the end with a fire spell. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness, but when he peered into the ravine he almost wished he had left the darkness alone. At the bottom of the ravine was the source of the wood splinters: a broken wooden cart that was rotting from seasons of exposure to the elements. A skeleton lay by the cart as well as a large bones that had probably come from a horse. All the flesh had been picked away by wild beasts, except for the flesh of another corpse that Saruman could not even begin to identify. The skin looked pale and rotten, the eyes sunken and large. Saruman caught an odor from it that was so revolting, it was no wonder that even the animals chose to leave it alone. Saruman wasn't sure what had happened here, but it was probably more important than building a campfire. He had to show this to Gandalf.

Gandalf had been worried when Saruman called out for him, but his countenance quickly changed when he went to the ravine with Saruman and peered in. "Orc," he growled, frowning. "Must've ambushed a lone traveler, but it would seem its attack led it to die alongside its prey."

"What's an orc?" Saruman asked. He guessed it was something repulsive, since he had never seen Gandalf express such revulsion before.

"Creatures of the darkness," Gandalf said, pointing to the corpse with his staff to set it ablaze. "There is debate as to whether they have souls, but in my opinion they are empty shells, more beast than intelligent beings. That is why they were so easily twisted and swayed by Sauron to join his forces as loyal, mindless servants."

Saruman looked thoughtful as he watched the corpse being consumed by the flames. "And who exactly is Sauron? I understand he is a dark force, as you briefly mentioned before."

"Let us go back to camp," Gandalf said, turning away from the blaze. "I'll explain there.

Now the sun was gone, and two moons rose to fill the sky with an ethereal, silver light. Saruman knew they were actually two planets, but the knowledge made them no less beautiful. He sat before the fire he had crafted with the kindling he had gathered, eating an apple as he listened to Gandalf. The old wizard sat beside him, puffing on his pipe between sentences.

"Remember how I said that there were five Maia, created by the Valar? They were intended to do good things and maintain peace in Middle Earth. For a long while, this was so. Unfortunately, it did not last, for one of the Valar decided to abandon Eru's design and create discord in Middle Earth. This being, Melkor, was what brought evil into the world and introduced mortals to rebellion and greed and death. In the end, Melkor was overthrown and banished from this world, but not before he corrupted the heart and mind of one of the Maia—Sauron. Now, Sauron sought to serve Melkor, and ultimately to be like him. He followed his master's every whim until his master was overthrown. At that point, Sauron attempted to become powerful and rule in Melkor's stead. He used his magical abilities to forge the rings of power, with which he intended to take over Middle Earth. It was only by the alliance of the Elves and Men that he too was overthrown and vanquished. When he was separated from his Rings, he lost his corporeal form, for the rings were all that tied him to the physical world. Should he be united with even one of the lesser rings, he would be able to manifest his physical form again, and wreak havoc on Arda."

Saruman absorbed the story grimly, his thoughts drifting back to the influence of dark forces in his past life. He was struck by the parallels between the two—Melkor was like Palpatine, and Sauron was like Saruman…not that he had intended to do evil, and in actuality had been trying to do a good thing by pretending to serve the Sith lord. He felt a bit ashamed to be comparing himself to someone who was so despised, but it _did_ give him a bit of perspective. _It's not too late to change my role_ , he thought as he lay back on his bedroll. _Perhaps now, in this new world, I can have the new life I had so desperately wished for_. With this last thought, he gazed up at the starry sky and promptly fell asleep. His dreams were dark and filled with horrific visions: the Jedi temple being overrun by Republic troops, Jedi being mowed down relentlessly, children being murdered in cold blood. He heard their screams and felt the heat of the laser blasts, but he was powerless to do anything about it. Then, to his absolute horror, he saw his former master, Darth Sideous, approaching him with his red lightsaber drawn.

"I'm watching you," he rasped, cackling wickedly before bringing his blade down on Saruman's paralyzed form.

He woke up in a cold sweat, surprised to see that the sun was already rising above the horizon. Gandalf was loading things back into the cart, but he came over to Saruman's side when he realized his companion had awoken.

"Ah, good morning! Did you sleep well? You seemed to be slumbering deeply, and I didn't have the heart to wake you. We have a long journey today, and I thought you needed all the rest you could get."

Saruman didn't reply, still struggling to shake of the last vestiges of his disturbing dream. He ignored the pain in his leg as he rolled up his bedroll and stood up to put the bedding in the cart. He forced a smile to cover his discomfort. "We'd best be going, then."

As the sun rose higher in the sky, Saruman's mood lightened somewhat. The road they traveled passed beside a wide stream, and for a long way the land was covered in golden grasses that danced in the breeze. In the distance, Elk grazed in small herds, and birds of various kinds darted in and out of sight among the grass. Unfortunately, this idyllic scenery did not last. Over time, Saruman became aware of the grass losing its golden sheen. The elk disappeared. Birds no longer chirped or flew about. The stream grew narrow and murky, and the sky overhead became grey and misty.

"Where are we?" Saruman asked, concerned by the grim expression that had come over Gandalf's face.

"We're passing through Deepmire," the wizard replied, urging his horse to a fast trot. "Usually I would take the long way around, but this is the fastest route to our destination."

"Then why take the long way at all?" Saruman inquired. "Surely the shortest way is the best."

"Not for ordinary travelers," Gandalf said ominously. "You see, the stream we were following ends here, feeding this marshland. The vapors released from the rotting plants and soil makes the sky dark and gloomy. It poisons the water and makes the air smell foul. That is why only monsters reside here."

"Monsters?" Saruman echoed. Images of great beasts filled his mind—Rancors and Sarlacs, and the vicious, voracious Acklays. He shuddered to think such creatures lurked here, waiting to ambush them at any moment. He glanced at Gandalf.

"What sort of monsters?" he dared to ask.

"Giant spiders, snakes, that sort of thing," Gandalf replied. "At one time orcs also dwelt in places like this, after Sauron fell and they spread out to the wild places of the world. They've all but died out by now, save for a few populations in the deepest, darkest places."

"And what would we do if we were to encounter any of these monsters?"

Gandalf smiled tightly. "If worse came to worse, we would have to fight them off. I know a few banishing spells that could repel them, but that may not work if they are hungry enough. They would attack the horse first, but even then I could not forgive myself if anything happened to Willow. I've raised her since she was a foal…"

As touching as the sentiment was, Saruman was distracted from Gandalf's words when he noticed a faint splashing noise. He looked into the swampy water along the side of the road, amused to see a tiny reptilian creature slithering haphazardly through the water. It looked very much like a salamander, except that it had a large, dome-shaped head, webbed fingers, and a long, narrow body that was about a foot in length. It was the color of fresh mud but with blue spots, and the tip of its whip-like tail was jet black. It had a comical-looking face, with tiny, beady eyes and a comparatively huge mouth that curved upwards, like it was smiling. This silliness was enhanced by the fact that the little creature was twirling as it swam or slithered through the water. After watching the little creature's antics for several moments, Saruman chuckled.

"What is it?" Gandalf asked, glancing at him.

"Just a funny, swimming lizard," Saruman replied.

"Where?" Gandalf asked, his voice taking on an intensity that was almost frightening.

"Just over there, swimming along the side of the road beside us."

"Bog-worms," Gandalf muttered darkly, urging Willow to go faster with insistent flicks of the reigns. Saruman wrinkled his brow apprehensively. "That didn't look like a worm to me at all. Is it dangerous?"

"Not worm as in the kind you put on your fishing line," Gandalf said distractedly as he looked about for danger. "'Worm' is the insulting term for a dragon, or any kind of reptile. Bog-worms are indeed dangerous, perhaps even more so than the giant spiders."

"It didn't look dangerous to me," Saruman murmured. "Strange, and a bit comical, maybe."

"That's what they want you to think," Gandalf growled. "It's how they trick you into lowering your defences before they spring at you to attack. One on its own is easy enough to kill, but where there is one, there are usually far more. And therein lies the danger."

Saruman was about to ask him to elaborate, when the swimming Bog-worm emerged from the water and scuttled into the middle of the road on its tiny legs. It snarled and opened its large mouth, showing rows of small, but razor-sharp teeth. Willow stopped and reared, upsetting the cart. Gandalf and Saruman fell off and landed on the ground, and all hell broke loose as more Bog-worms slithered out of the water and attacked. Saruman jumped to his feet, forcing himself to remain steady without the walking stick, which had fallen somewhere. He grabbed his lightsaber and activated it, the red blade blazing to life. This startled the Bog-worms, but only for a split second. It was long enough for Gandalf to burn a few of them with fire from his staff, and Saruman sliced two in neat halves with his lightsaber. But for every one that they killed, another rose from the swamp to take its place. Some even devoured the dead Bog-worms before joining the attack.

It was not long into the melee that Saruman became exhausted, and he panicked as he felt himself growing weaker. The Bog-worms were gaining the advantage, pressing both him and Gandalf close to Willow. Gandalf attempted this banishing spell, but it had m minimal effect. A particularly feisty Bog-worm leapt at Gandalf and bit him in the shin, and he cried out in pain before vaporizing the vile little creature with a lightning spell. The cry seemed to send a new surge of adrenaline through Saruman, and his mind delved into his basest instinct to survive.

"Enough!" he bellowed, throwing up both hands before him. He Force-pushed all the Bog-worms surrounding him and Gandalf, sending dozens of the creatures flying. He shouted a flame spell he remembered from Gandalf's book, and the Bog-worms were enveloped in fire. They squealed in pain, running back into the water. Not all of them survived to make it, but those that did disappeared beneath the mire.

When the little beasts were all gone, Saruman sunk to the ground, the adrenaline rush gone. He spotted his walking stick nearby and crawled over to it. Gandalf limped over to him and sunk to the ground beside him.

"That was impressive," he said, chest heaving as he caught his breath. "I knew you could cast fire spells, but when did you learn that other stuff?"

"I, er, skimmed the rest of your book," Saruman said, not sure the time was right to reveal that he had powers from another world. "I used some things I learned from the book, and improved the rest."

Gandalf didn't look quite like he believed that, but he said nothing more about it as he examined his bloody leg.

"I knew I should have brought my apothecary satchel," he said, cursing under his breath. "I didn't anticipate any injuries on this trip, particularly for myself."

"Let me try something," Saruman said, tearing off a piece of the hem of his robe to wipe off some of the blood. He looked at the wound to get an idea of it, put both hands over it, and closed his eyes. He searched his memory for the words he had read in the book, and found them. He whispered them softly, like saying them too lout would break the spell. He opened his eyes and lifted his hands from Gandalf's leg, and was not disappointed.

"You healed it," Gandalf said, the wonder clear in his voice.

"It was a spell from your book," Saruman said with a shrug. "It only works on surface wounds…I tried it on myself, but it didn't work."

"Even so," Gandalf said, growing excited, "It takes years of practice to be able to use any kind of healing spell…unless you are a wizard—a Maia!"

"I thought you already believed I was," Saruman said. "At least, that's what you told those Hobbits."

"I had a hunch," Gandalf said, "But now there is no doubt about it. You may not know much about our world yet, but no one can deny that your powers are equal to that of the Maia. So what else could you be?" He stood up to test his leg. Finding there was no pain, he righted the cart and untangled the reigns. With Saruman's help, they gathered up the items that had spilled out of the cart, and were soon traveling down the road again. It may have been luck that kept them from meeting any other beasts on the way out of the swamp, but in any case they were able to leave it and come out on the other side without further incident.

"On the return journey," Gandalf said, "We're taking the longer road."


	4. Meeting the Maia

**Author's Note:** This story is taking long to write because there's a LOT of _Lord of the Rings_ research going into it. Ciao.

* * *

They passed through more grassland, and Saruman marveled at how undeveloped the land was. He had been so used to packed cities with buildings upon buildings, where gardens were a luxury and fields were all but unheard of. But here, the opposite was true, and now that he was experiencing it, he realized it was quite stimulating. The grassland seemed to sprawl for miles, and every now and again Saruman would catch a glimpse of a herd of deer, or elk, and at one point horses. It could have been his imagination, but he thought he spotted a couple of horses that bore long, spiraling horns on their heads.

Finally the grassland became spotted with trees—alders and beeches and mighty oaks, and the road took them in between a dense cluster of trees whose lofty branches blocked out the sky. Here, Gandalf dismounted from the cart and Saruman followed, making sure to take his walking stick with him. Gandalf tied Willow's tether to a skinny tree, leaving enough slack to allow her to graze.

"We'll be gone for a while," he explained to Saruman before continuing along the path. It grew narrower as the trees became more packed together, their branches blocking out most of the sunlight. Gandalf's staff, however, had an orb at the top that gave off a bright glow, so that they could see comfortably. As they continued to walk, Saruman noticed the trees getting taller and taller as they went deeper into the wood. He half expected to encounter furry, little bear-like creatures, or big, hairy warriors. None of that happened of course, but Saruman would not have been surprised if it had. Before long, the towering trees thinned, and Saruman could finally see snatches of the afternoon sky through the thick canopy. Then he noticed that the canopy was moving, but there was no wind to stir it. He glanced uneasily to Gandalf, who had stopped walking and was staring intently at the trees around them.

"What's happening?" Saruman asked, tightly grasping his walking stick with one hand, while reaching for his lightsaber with the other.

"Be still, Saruman," Gandalf said. "These are the guardians of this Forest. These are the Northern Ents."

Saruman forced himself to remain calm as the trees approached and surrounded them. There were seven of them, and now that they were close, Saruman could see that these moving trees had roughly human shapes and faces. Their legs were thick and gnarled like roots, their arms were long and covered in leaves; their chests were broad and rough with bark; and instead of hair, their heads were covered in thick clusters of leaves, moss, and holly. The Ent that stood in front of them had rich red bark like that of a Sequoia. His leaves were deep green and spiky, and his large eyes were the color of the sky on a cloudless summer day.

"Gandalf the Grey," he said, his voice more of a creaking than speaking, "We are here to take you to meet with the others. But who is this that you have brought with you?"

Gandalf shared an anxious glance with Saruman, but his voice was even when he answered.

"Elder Strongroot, this is Saruman, a new wizard who was sent to use by the Valar. I brought him here to present him to the others."

The Ent appeared to consider this for a moment, rumbling and creaking. The other Ents rumbled and creaked as well, and Gandalf whispered to Saruman, "They are conversing in Tree language. This might take a while."

Saruman did not reply, merely listening to the trees talking while grasping his walking stick in a white-knuckled grip. Perhaps an hour later, the Ent Gandalf had called Strongroot faced Gandalf again and nodded, leaves falling from his mighty head.

"Pallandro the Blue did remark about a falling star," he said in his slow, rumbling voice. "He told us it marked an arrival, though he did not know of whom. He will be pleased to see it was a new wizard."

With that said, the old Ent turned round and began walking deeper into the forest. Gandalf and Saruman followed him, and two of the other Ents came up behind them. The other four Ents disappeared into the forest, but Saruman did not have long to contemplate where they went. The forest they walked through now was quite different than the others he had seen to this point, and his senses drank in every detail. The way the light glistened on glossy leaves, the dust motes and fairy-like flies fluttering in shafts of sunlight, which was by now the deep orange of the setting sun. The way the thick, leafy loam muffled their footsteps—even those of the Ents, and the smells of musty earth and tree bark and damp leaves. Saruman was so focused on taking in these new details that he did not realize when the procession had stopped. He bumped into Gandalf, who turned around to smile wryly at him.

"The ruins of Lewyr Sul," he said, gesturing toward a clearing before them. "How does it strike you?"

Saruman looked where Gandalf was pointing. It took a moment for him to process what he was seeing. In the clearing, highlighted by streaks of the deep, red light of the setting sun, stood elegant, white pillars and arches of white stone…marble, perhaps. They reached almost as high as the trees, and each pillar bore a plinth that glowed with a bluish white fire. A cobblestone path ran beside the pillars and beneath the arches. Though it was strewn with various leaf litter, the stones it was made from glittered with the quality of polished jewels.

"It's breathtaking," Saruman finally said, and he meant it.

"Indeed. It's a pity that this is all that remains of it," Gandalf said, his voice tinged with sadness. "Lewyr Sul was even more beautiful before it was abandoned and fell to ruins. The Elves who lived here, you see, had been driven out by a band of Orcs, much like the one you saw yesterday. That was, of course, before the Ents came up from the Southern forests of Fanghorn to live here."

After he said this, he nodded respectfully to their Ent escorts.

"Thank you for bringing us here, Elder Strongroot."

The Ent rumbled in reply, or perhaps it was a word to the other two with him, because without another sound they walked off into the darkening forest. When their muffled footsteps faded, Gandalf led Saruman down the cobblestone path, passing under the great arches. As they walked beneath them, Saruman could see that there were intricate symbols engraved all across the stonework.

What is that?" he asked, wondering if he had ever seen symbols like those before.

"The history of the Elves, Gandalf said, his voice warm with memory. "They took pride in their origins, incorporating the words of their history into their art, architecture, even their clothing. He chuckled. "There have been days that I wished mankind would learn to take such strides toward dignity and elegance, but even an Elf is prone to folly through pride…how much more so would a human be!"

Saruman grunted in agreement, his thoughts flashing to Emperor Palpatine. If ever there was a man full of pride, he was one. Suddenly his mind's eye was filled with darkness, and he heard a malevolent, rasping voice. "You cannot escape me…I'm watching you." The darkness changed to a fiery red, and a pitch black figure appeared in the middle. It looked like a silhouette at first, but it shifted constantly and seemed to dilate and constrict. And just as Saruman began to wonder where he had seen something like that, he came to the horrible conclusion that this fiery thing was a giant, red eye. And it was watching _him_.

"Saruman?"

Saruman shook his head to clear his mind of the terrible vision, focusing on what was around him. He and Gandalf had followed the path to the center of the pillars and arches, to a large, circular foundation made of the same white stone as the arches. Unlike the path, this floor was clear of twigs and leaves, and at the very center there was a delightful bonfire that burned brightly and cast light on three people who were gathered around it.

"Gandalf!" One of the people called, waving. "You've come just in time! Pallandro has finished making a hearty stew!"

Gandalf approached the fire and clasped the speaker's arms in greeting.

"Radagast, my friend—how is it in the Western Woods?"

Radagast did not get the chance to reply—the other two people came up to Gandalf, and the larger of the two scooped both him and Radagast in a massive embrace.

"Gandalf!" he thundered, "You've come!"

"Yes, Alatar," Gandalf wheezed, squirming out of the hug. "I bear news."

"Good news, I hope," the smaller person said, offering a bowl of stew to Gandalf, who accepted it gratefully.

"Thank you, Pallandro. And yes, there is good news, but I'm afraid I have bad news as well."

"We might as well hear the bad news first," Alatar rumbled, running a callused hand through his bluish-black beard. Gandalf stirred his stew in thought before speaking.

"The Ring of Power has been found."

There was silence at his news, but it was out of grim acceptance rather than surprise. There was a squeak from Radagast, who fumbled with his robes and pulled out a mischievous mouse before whispering, "You're absolutely certain it's _the_ Ring…not one of the other nine?"

"I'm positive," Gandalf said, his eyes darkening with memory. It's currently in the hands of a Hobbit, but—"

"A Hobbit?!" Alatar laughed, his deep voice echoing off the pillars.

"Quiet! Gandalf snapped, and the other wizard became sober again. "Yes, a Hobbit has the Ring, but he does not know its true power, nor of the dark forces that will be hunting for it. I have summoned you all here so that we may form a plan to stop Sauron from finding the Ring."

"Pardon me, Gandalf," Pallandro said, "But aren't we meant to be advisors and peacemakers? You remember that the Valar told us to never match Sauron in power or violence, because that will corrupt us and our abilities."

Gandalf clutched his bowl tightly in impatience, though no one noticed.

"I'm not suggesting that we fight," he said steadily, "But we _do_ have a duty to take the news to the people who can. Humans, Dwarves, Woodspeople, and Elves. All the Holds in Middle Earth. The Valar did tell us to protect them—by taking the news to them and warning them, we can."

The other wizards murmured in agreement, until Alatar rumbled,

"I thought you also bore good news."

Gandalf smiled. "I do. I'm sure you noticed the falling star a few days ago."

"It was a good omen, I felt," Pallandro said, rubbing his thin, black beard. "I believe it signaled a long-awaited arrival."

"Indeed it did," Gandalf said. He gestured at the shadows, and Saruman finally approached the fire. The other wizards stood up at his approach, their eyes curious, but their expressions distrustful.

"Who is this, Gandalf?" Alatar boomed.

Gandalf gazed at him calmly. "This is Saruman. He was brought by the falling star. I believe the Valar sent him to us."

"But we've received no omens to indicate that," Radagast said. "The Valar would have told us—especially if they were sending another Maia."

"The Valar do not tell us everything," Gandalf retorted, digging in his satchel for his pipe. "They do not answer to us."

"Then how can you be so certain he is a wizard?" Pallandro asked icily. "He has the look of one, but looks are not everything."

"His understanding of magic is astonishing," Gandalf insisted," sticking his pipe in his mouth to hide the twitching in his lip. "During our journey here, he demonstrated a firm grasp of magic that only we Maia are capable of having. That alone should be proof enough."

"We will have to see it for ourselves, of course," Pallandro said briskly, moving back toward the fire to stir his stew. "Surely you would not begrudge us that, would you Gandalf?"

Gandalf opened his mouth to shoot back a heated reply, but before he could, the fire exploded—or that was how it seemed. It did not get hotter, but it did get brighter. Pallandro backed away until he was standing abreast the other wizards, staring with mouth agape at the sight before them.

In the center of the fire stood a giant, man-shaped being. He was at least fifteen feet tall, and his body was clad in steel and leather armor that was polished to match the brightness of the stars. His face looked at once old and young, noble and wise, humble yet brave. His eyes were the deep blue of the night sky, and his voice was like the crashing of a waterfall. He looked down at Pallandro, who looked surprised and ashamed.

"Pallandro the Blue," he said in his mighty voice, "Has it been so long since your arrival here that you have forgotten that the ways of the Valar are not your own?"

"No, Aule," Pallandro said weakly.

"Good." The mighty being that was one of the Valar turned his gaze on Saruman, who had the presence of mind to close his mouth.

"Saruman, step forward."

Saruman did as he was told, though his mind didn't really register that he was doing it. He stopped not five feet in front of the Valar.

"Do you know who I am, Man of Skill?"

"I understand you are one of the Valar," Saruman said tentatively, "One of the beings who helped shape this world."

"Indeed," the Valar replied. "But more specifically, I am Aule, the being of skilled craft. I fashioned the sun and the moons, the great lights that bathe this world and the ones around it in light. I taught Elvenkind how to fletch their bows, Dwarvenkind to smith their hammers, and Mankind to forge their plows. And it is I who brought you, Saruman, a man of skill, into their world at a time when a great evil arises. The other Valar sent five Maia into the world: Pallandro and Alatar the Blue, Radagast the Brown, and Gandalf the Grey. The fifth, who was sent by Melkor, has turned wicked and worked against the will of Eru. So I tell you, in the presence of your fellow wizards, that I am sending you, Saruman the White, to join them as the fifth of the true Maia." He bent down and touched Saruman's walking stick with the tip of his finger. Saruman expected a rush of power to flow through it, and in a sense it did. But he was not prepared for the electric shock that ran through the stick, through his hands, and into his body. It was at once excruciating and exhilarating. He felt like he was dying but being energized at the same time, and before he knew it the surge was over. He realized then that he had changed. Aside from the energy coursing through his veins, he realized that his injured leg no longer hurt, and his salt-and-pepper beard was longer and stark white now. His robe was also white, and his walking stick had been transformed into an elegant, white staff. He looked it over admiringly, then looked back to Aule. "Th-thank you, sir."

The Valar smiled, his essence brightening even more. He looked at all the Wizards in turn.

"Heed your new brother, wise wizards. He has seen much, and has knowledge that can help you as you rise against the great evil of your fallen brother, Sauron."

"Aule," Alatar said suddenly, "didn't you and the other Valar tell us not to match Sauron's power? That we are to be peaceful beings, not ones of war?"

There are ways to fight that do not require great force," Aule replied. "It will serve you well to learn how to do so." After he said this, he disappeared as abruptly as he had come, the brightness lingering for a full minute after he had gone. The fire returned to its normal glow, but it did not seem as brilliant as before. The other wizards looked at Saruman apologetically.

"I…I'm sorry I doubted you," Pallandro whispered. "I should have known—not just anyone would have come from a falling star. The Valar were clearly behind it…I just didn't look hard enough."

Saruman laid a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Pallandro. Anyone can make mistakes. But one mistake we should not make is to tarry while the threat of Sauron is on the horizon."

"Which brings us to the original purpose of our meeting," Gandalf said while relighting his pipe, which had gone out. "Even the Valar are encouraging us to stand against Sauron, though of course actively fighting him is not to be considered at this point. Aule made it clear that we are to seek alternate ways to prevent Sauron's return to power."

"Perhaps Saruman the White has an idea?" Radagast quipped while petting the mouse now perched on his shoulder. The other wizards looked expectantly to Saruman, who frantically scrambled for a feasible plan. He certainly had a bit of experience fighting dark and powerful forces…like Darth Maul, who he had failed to kill, and who in turn had killed his former apprentice Qui-gon Jinn as a gesture of vengeance. He didn't get the chance to avenge his apprentice either—Qui-gon's apprentice Obi-wan had done that. So Saruman had decided to undermine Darth Sideous by winning his trust and destroying him at the right moment. Unfortunately, Sideous' newest apprentice, Anakin Skywalker, stood in his way…as well as the whole Jedi Order, who had misinterpreted his intentions. Granted, the consequences of his choices had not been good. But that did not mean that a similar plan of undermining would not work here and now. This was a new life, and Saruman wanted to make the right decisions this time around, even if it meant risking his life to do so. After all, Aule had chosen _him_. In that surge of power from the Valar through his staff, Saruman had a vision of Aule crafting a wormhole to bridge two universes to bring him here, and after that Saruman could only trust that Aule knew what he was doing. It stood to reason that the Valar had chosen Saruman for his past experiences, so he should use them in his new role as much as the new skills he had learned. With this in mind, Saruman cleared his throat and addressed the others.

"I believe I have a ploy in mind that would suffice our purpose, as well as the will of the Valar."

"By all means," Alatar rumbled, "Let us hear it."

Saruman drew in a deep breath, ignoring the nagging voice in the back of his mind that told him no one would like what he had to say.

"In the life I lived before, one could fight the darkness without actually engaging it in battle, as the Valar are loathe to allow us to do. This was achieved by meditation on what is good—to shield ourselves against the darkness, while at the same time covertly infiltrating the opposition's ranks.

Alatar frowned. "Are you suggesting that we use deception to gain the trust of the enemy? Of Sauron?"

"In short, yes," Saruman said. "Surely _pretending_ to aid him would not be hard to do, nor would it be going against the will of the Valar. One or more of us could slip into his ranks with no violence, and when he trusts us enough to let us close to him, we could take him down from within."

"No," Pallandro snapped. "Out of the question. Gandalf, tell him how absurd this is."

Saruman glanced to Gandalf, hoping his friend would support him, but the wizard frowned and shook his head.

"I'm afraid Pallandro is right, Saruman. Such a tactic may have worked for you in the past, wherever that may have been, but it would not work here. Sauron is simply too shrewd and powerful to fall for such a ruse. And to even attempt such a ploy would put us and the entirety of Middle Earth at risk. Should he find a wizard in his midst, Sauron would not hesitate to corrupt him and use him against the rest of us."

Saruman clenched his jaw at Gandalf's words, but he did not argue. "Then what should we do? As I understand it, our time is steadily running out."

"Gandalf's idea to warn the Holds would be a good start," Radagast said, trying to lighten the mood with a smile. "No violence, and it would prepare Middle Earth for the worst-case scenario."

The other wizards nodded—even Saruman—though his movements were half-hearted.

"Then it is settled," Gandalf said, making ready to leave. "Pallandro, carry the news to the Holds of Men; Alatar, take the word to the Dwarves. Radagast, you can take the word to the Woods-People, and Saruman and I will carry the word to the Elves. When Sauron stirs up trouble, the world will be ready for him."

The wizards began to leave, one by one. Radagast took off on a wagon drawn by giant rabbits, Pallandro made his way to a dappled stallion and mounted it, riding away into the dark night. Alatar lumbered off, disappearing into the shadows. Saruman followed Gandalf back down the path they had come earlier, the way lit by Gandalf's staff. They walked in silence the whole way, the only sounds coming from crickets, the occasional hooting of an owl, and woody creaking that may have been the speech of an Ent somewhere. Saruman wondered if he should say something to Gandalf to break the silence between them, but he didn't know what to say. So he said nothing, even when they came out of the forest to where Gandalf's horse and cart were still tied. Without a word, Gandalf untied them and heaved himself into the driver's seat, taking hold of the reins. Saruman climbed into the back, laying his staff beside him. When he was aboard, Gandalf goaded the horse homeward. The rocking of the cart was soothing to Saruman's worried mind, and within minutes he was asleep.


End file.
